The Upside-Down Smile
by MadFace
Summary: Behind that grin…Behind that laugh…Behind that joyful vibe…he was a broken soul that hid behind a painted mask.
1. Part One

**...what did I just write? O.o **

**And before someone accuses me of being depressed, I'm not. I just really like writing about a character in this kind of state, because you get to see how they really are. And yes, I just went all wise on you! :) Anywho, yes, I've watched Hetalia, the first three seasons. I would've watched all five (did season five come out yet?) if I wasn't broke. So...yeah. Enjoy! :D Please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes. I'm a terrible proof-reader. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, it belongs to its respectful and rightful owner/owners.**

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He supposed that when he first started painting his mask he was just doing it to see if other's noticed. It was nine decades after _he _left, and at that time, he was pretty sure_ he_ had died. He usually spent his days painting on empty canvasses, the colors bending into one another, mixing, creating even more beautiful shades. There was always a crease between his furrowed eyebrows, constantly birthing a concentrated aura to his face. But what was he concentrating on all the time? Back then, he would've said he was concentrating on his painting, on getting the shades right, of adding that tiny little detail to the smile that surely would've made it seem realistic.

But a when he first applied that mask, he realized that he wasn't concentrating on the paintings; he was concentrating on forgetting of his hurt, his sadness…his _anger. _Anger truly dragged humans down. Sure, it was first produced as hurt, slowly gnawing away at the continuously throbbing heart that painfully thumped in the chest, but over a period of time that consisted of the heart aching, it was twisted into anger. And how did he vent that anger? He painted of _him _each and every day, taking up the hours of light and the hours of dark. There was no time for the comfort of food for the all too familiar stomach that uttered out growls every minute, there was only time for getting that anger out, for concentrating on forgetting.

This didn't work though. No, it never worked. Those blue eyes, that blonde hair, those flushed cheeks…they kept reminding him of _everything. _Forgetting was an impossible action; it was a wish that could never be received. So one day, the wrong shade was produced to the blue eyes, a violet appearing. The next minute, he was on the ground, a sobbing mess. The shoulders shook, the heart screamed out as the hurt ferociously bit into it, and sobs echoed throughout the room. Deep down, he was screaming for help, for comfort, for someone to _understand. _

Yet no one came. He sat there, eyes wide and bloodshot, painted hands dirtying his trousers as he clutched on them, desperately listening for footsteps to climb up those creaky stairs. The broken soul dreadfully watched the wooden door, imagining someone bursting into the room and wrapping their arms around his trembling body.

_But no one did. _

The last time he'd laid his amber eyes on someone was…

He didn't know.

He _didn't know. _

What did a human being look like?

_He didn't know. _

What color were his brother's angry eyes?

_He didn't know. _

What did he look like?

_HE DIDN'T KNOW. _

And so, at that moment, he rose to his feet, almost knocking over the extensive display of paintings, and staggered out of the room. After wracking his memories, he found himself stumbling into the bathroom, shakily opening the door with a quivering hand. Almost immediately, a mirror met his vision, and he met sights with the crease between his eyebrows.

In that second, the first part of the mask was crafted. After resting his palms on the table, he looked up, spotting his amber eyes, his brownish-red hair, that upside-down smile, and realized how to forget of the hurt…of the sadness…of his anger.

That smile was no longer upside-down.

But it was fake.

It's always been fake.

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**Seriously though...what did I just write? I was just jamming out to some awesome Namine Ritsu music, and then BAM! Time to write about a depressed/angry Italy! **

**I hope that you enjoyed reading this though. I've been deprived of writing, and so I'm happy to finally have written something. I hope that I made this unique too...because if it isn't I'm just gonna go sit in the corner. I don't know if I'm going to continue this either... I just kind of stopped because I thought that continuing it would ruin the mood...I'll just mark it as complete for the time being. **

**Reviews would be awesomely appreciated! You'll get some energy drinks in return since I downed an entire energy drink while writing it. (You'll get a review from me in return)**

**Thanks for reading, and have a great day/week! :D**


	2. Part Two

**So I've decided to make this into a mini-story thingy, because to be honest, I loved writing the first one, and enjoyed writing this one in class. It's so much fun writing about these characters...even if it makes me look like a sadist for liking to write about a depressed Italy. But I've always thought about how he could be so happy after losing the Holy Roman Empire...I'm not a sadist though. **

**I have Part Three written out (thankfully) but I like to be ahead of of schedule, so once I get Part Four done I'll post Part Three, and once I get Part Five done then I'll post Part Four, and so on...**

**P.S-If you ever need to write something depressing, just listen to Hirari, Hirari by Hatsune Miku. IT ADDS FEELS, MAN. IT ADDS FEELS. ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, it belongs to its rightful and respectful owners... If I owned Hetalia...oh goodness, that's a scary thought. O.o **

**Enjoy! **

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It was after a century or two that his mask's paint began to chip. After taking on the false illusion that he was a joyful, carefree country, others noticed. It almost seemed like no one could hate him, not matter what action he performed. Sure, Switzerland tried to shoot him with multiple guns whenever he passed through, but not even he could hate him due to sweet, forgiving Lichtenstein. She was always there to calm down her older brother with her innocence.

So when his mask was chipped, others noticed. After years and years of continuously repainting the mask to keep it fresh and perfect, there was a chip. Under normal circumstances, he would have immediately repainted, no one noticing…yet this wasn't under normal circumstances.

It was when he gazed into defeated, exhausted blue eyes as a harsh kick was delivered to their ribcage, earning a grunt in return. Despite every little thing he'd recently done, recently agreed to, he dropped to his knees. His trembling hands slowly untied the gag around the owner of the blue eye's mouth, his own amber eyes uncharacteristically wide and revealing instability. A soft, forlorn "I'm sorry" attempted to escape its prison, yet was harshly cut off.

"You betrayed me." Those sharp blue eyes held such fury, such exhaustion, so much sadness and suddenly…hurt? That sentence and those eyes blended together, creating a new color as if this was a portrait. There was no declaration in that sentence, no questioning tone…it seemed like he was trying to actually convince himself that it _had_ happened. Had he thought that he'd never leave him beforehand?

But he had left him.

He'd betrayed him.

After multiple cheesy moments that consisted of them promising to stay best friends forever, after the owner of the amber eyes being allowed to sleep in the owner of the blue eye's bed after a nightmare…he'd left him for the other team…the other alliance.

And for what?

Peace? There'd be no peace after seeing those blue pools of hatred. There was no such thing as peace, not even now. The paint that chipped after gazing into those eyes that spew harsh words at him was the proof of this.

The others noticed the chipped paint almost immediately. He'd gotten to his feet like a drunken man, stumbling out of the room as if there was an earthquake occurring. Multiple objects had gotten knocked over, all of them torture devices. The man would not stand there and watch his best friend get whipped, beaten, even _burned. _Even if he'd betrayed him, he wouldn't gaze into those hurt blue eyes as they held flashes of pain within.

No, he'd return to his home, to his attic, to his blank canvas and paint.

And start that long cycle once again.

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**Sometimes, my friends ask me to give them my Penname (however you spell it) for this website so that they can read my stories. I never give it to them...and this is why. *looks up at story* They'd send me to the school counselor or some shiz...I'm not depressed btw. HIRARI, MAN. THAT SONG DOES STUFF TO YOU. **

**A really funny story is that we're currently learning about the World Wars in geography (I expected to learn about mountains and shiz, not interesting stuff like this!) and I wrote this without even knowing about the Treaty of Versailles. My friend (who read this before hearing about he Treaty of Versailles) and I were flipping out and shooting each other looks every three seconds. **

**She asked me if I could see into the past or some shiz.**

**Well, thanks for reading! ^_^ It'd be awesome to drop a review on by, I'd gladly read it and review one of your stories too. Have a great day! :D **


	3. Part Three

**...you guys are amazing. All those reviews! All those favorites! All those follows! I'm about to just go out and party like Ke$ha because of you guys. Plus, I hit over 100 visitors yesterday night, and I've only had this story up for four days. May not seem like much, but I'm still rather new to having an account here**

**Seriously though. THANK YOU SO MUCH! ^_^ You make me a happy person. **

**I don't really know if this is a good part here. The ending peeved me off since I had to rewrite it like *counts on fingers* Heck, I don't even know. But if you're unsatisfied with this one here, message me or post it in a review in a polite way please. :D **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners. If I owned it...they'd all be cats by now. How...I dunno. It'd just happen. ^_^ **

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Despite the fact that time had passed, everything was still broken.

That chip was still in his mask as he gazed at the disturbingly blank canvas, eyebrows knitted together and lips turned upward. A small, despised crease was present between his eyebrows, uncharacteristic to all yet common for him. Whenever he awoke alone in his cold, empty house, he'd stroll into the bathroom, meet his gaze in the pristine mirror, see that crease and release a small, restrained sob.

Why did he sob?

Those memories...

The memories plagued him all day, all night. There was no such thing as a peaceful, restful sleep at this point. Simply closing his amber eyes for a moment led to seeing those blue eyes…the eyes that despised him…the eyes that had once trusted him…

He'd made those blue eyes believe that everything was a lie.

Yet the past was the honest truth.

And he just wanted to smack the truth into his face from all the restrained sadness, frustration, self-hated, and irritation and…there it was once again. That one feeling that felt almost foreign now…the one emotion that would make people completely laugh at him due to the thought it was impossible…

It was anger.

No, not anger. It was something stronger than that emotion. This emotion was stronger; it was firing up in his chest like an explosion, burning away at everything else that he'd worked so hard to build. There was no such thing as happiness at this point. Only that fire remained, and the embers that flew out of it started various other fires too.

...fury.

His amber eyes returned to focus, comprehending the blank canvas that stood before him. The sunlight that shone in through a nearby window should have been adding a shininess to paint by now, yet his mind resembled that canvas; blank. That crease deepened as he changed his posture, biting down on his lip. The amber eyes narrowed, staring at the canvas as if it would give him the answer to his thoughts.

The only thought he had though was of the blue eyes. A beautiful aqua swirled within them, holding an almost foreign softness. All the others considered the owner of the blue eyes to be a monster, to be a cold-hearted, merciless killer. That aqua spoke otherwise, however. The others may never see it, but he could.

He constantly wondered and though about whether or not that aqua had been revived. It was rather obvious that he'd been the one to disrupt it, to rip that softness apart. After all, that softness was only ever there when he was around. It had always pleased him (it still does for a moment) when he realized that the aqua was only directed to him whenever he was around. The memories had overtaken the vivid picture of the aqua however, blurring it at the edges and making it disoriented in the blue.

Without him even noticing it, his hand began to move. The brush that lay in his hands moved elegantly, almost making it appear as if his hand was dancing. Lines of color flew across the canvas, coating with layer and layer of exquisiteness. The crease was no longer there, nor the frown. Only a peaceful, content expression was plastered on that tan skin as he remembered all those times with the blue and the aqua. Once, a small, soft smile had accompanied that blue and aqua, even reaching the colors. It had made a warm feeling swell up in his chest, and that mask was taken off for a single moment, not needed. He wished to take off that mask forever, to just be happy.

But in reality, he wasn't happy.

He was filled to the brim with sorrow, with regret, with guilt…with fury.

That crease returned.

Almost immediately, an unwelcomed color appeared in that blue, ruining the aqua. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest at the sight of it, his eyes wide and mouth open a few centimeters.

There was that color.

That ugly color.

Violet.

He expected his mask to chip, for that crease to become a permanent part of him, yet felt a warning feeling swell up within him. A single, tan finger rested on top of the violet, eyebrows furrowed.

Violet…

Presently, he's aware that it was a warning. But in the past, he dismissed it as an error, and rested the ruined painting on the ground.

It still lies in his attic as a reminder of what was to come.

It remains to allow that crease to return every once in a while...because the scars could only cause tears.

And you can only cry so much.

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**...oh noes! What scars?! Why the color violet?! WHAT THE FRUITCAKE IS GOING ON?! **

**...I'm not saying. ^_^ But if anyone understands the violet thingy...*wink, wink* you've got yourself a tiny sneak peek. Anywho, thanks so much for reading! Go ahead and drop a review because they are HIGHLY appreciated and enjoyed. Don't be shy. I'm a nice person. ^_^ (who's currently hyper...)**

**Thanks for reading! And once again, thanks so much for the support! **

**P.S-...*in whisper* ****_Starting next chapter, there's gonna be more Germany so... _*****wink, wink* HAVE AN AWESOME DAY! :D **


	4. Part Four

**All this support is...*tears up* AWESOME! Thanks so much for the support! ^_^ I didn't think I'd get even a review or two, or a favorite or two, or even at least one follower! I hope that the parts are satisfying enough. I try my best. **

**And yes, I know I upload rather fast, but that's because I love to write, and I've had writer's block for *counts on fingers once again* quiet a few months, so it's nice to finally be able to write. **

**Anywho, I think that I'm going to raise the rating to T for teen because of the next part...YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. Violence is coming up! *puts on sunglasses* Shiz is hitting the fan. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners.**

**P.S-Germany's a little...dark (for lack of better words) in this chapter. BEWARE! **

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The next time he saw the color violet was when he strolled into a simple room that was fashioned with only an organized desk and rather comfy looking seats. He would've plopped down onto one of the chairs if it wasn't for the fact that those blue eyes were gazing at him from an intimidating angle. It added an ominous, if not frightening, appearance, and a shudder was racked through his body at the memory of the last time he'd seen those eyes.

The owner of the blue eyes was hunched over the desk, probably having been reading important documents that would have put anyone else to sleep almost immediately. As the two gazed at each other, he felt his mask begin to throb. His throb began to ache, constricting uncomfortably. Despite the unwelcomed sensation, he put on his typical, cheerful illusion and bounded over, prepared to give the taller man a hug that would've made him forget all wrongdoings the Italian had made in the past.

Yet the hug never occurred. A harsh "Stop" was hissed out, the venom almost killing him instantaneously. The man who halted in his bounds stood there now, a confused and hurt look replacing the once happy one. Those amber eyes were no longer in their usual manner, yet were wide and held unshed tears at the brims. Those blue eyes were focused on the floor, narrowed as the owner's body trembled in what the other imagined was anger. "Stop."

The owner of the amber eyes was once ignorant of how powerful one word could be until that single moment. Once again, after years of painting, the paint chipped again. It broke right off, allowing everyone else to see through it. Despite the fact that it was barely noticeable, he knew that he had to get out and repaint it before it chipped even more.

His heart pounded a little too fast, a sweat suddenly coated his forehead and palms, liquid began to pool in his pools of amber. "_Mi dispiace_…I'll just leave then…" he murmured, voice shaking just as much as the owner of the blue eyes.

As he turned around to stroll out of the room, mask chipping away even faster than he thought possible, a sudden warmth met his forearm, digging into it. A short gasp escaped him as he was yanked back, his shoulder and arm protesting rather loudly. The tears were still on the brim of his amber eyes, yet he did his best to keep them at bay, blinking rapidly as he tried to see clearly through the blurriness.

He could still make out that blue without perfect sight, however. An unseen fury and anger radiated deep within it, burning like a fresh, new fire. The owner of the amber eyes felt his heart be caught by his stomach as it dropped, his eyes widening even more. The two gazed at each other, observing each other's features. There was a comfortable silence that enveloped both of them in its arm, warm yet cold at the same time. Neither wished to break it, yet the owner of the blue eyes had thousands of questions to ask, so he uttered out the most common, the most important one of all of them.

"Why?"

Those amber eyes met the floor, observing the intricate patterns. Subconsciously, he felt his mask continue to chip away, and it began to become more difficult to keep those tears at bay by the second. His frame began to tremble slightly, his teeth biting down on his lower lip to keep from sobbing, and his fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. His throat constricted even tighter, and oxygen felt impossible to receive and carbon dioxide seemed impossible to deliver. So, he murmured out the only words he could, "I'm here to side with for whatever is to come. Ciao."

He turned to leave, yet hands dug into his shoulders. Nails bit into his skin, drawing blood. A wince and a yelp escaped the amber eyed adult, yet he fought back the tears as he gazed fearfully at the all too familiar face before him. "WHY?!" the taller one shouted, voice angry and…hurt?

The smaller of the two shook his head, eyes squeezed shut as he trembled as if he was in one of Russia's infamous blizzards. Panic and fear enveloped his mind, but as the hands began to shake him back and forth as the blue eyed one seemed to grow hysteric, the worst thing happened.

A tear escaped the corner of his left eye.

Almost immediately, he pushed the taller one away, eyes wide as more tears accompanied the leader. His entire body shook as he restrained his sobs, covering his face with his quivering hands. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" he yelled back, voice laced with frustration and hurt. "I LEFT YOU BECAUSE YOU WERE NO LONGER WHO YOU USED TO BE! YOU WERE NO LONGER MY ONCE BEST FRIEND WHO WOULD LET ME SLEEP IN YOUR BED IF I HAD A NIGHTMARE! YOU WERE A HEARTLESS, COLD MONSTER THAT ONLY CARED ABOUT DEFEATING THE TRIPLE ENTENTE! I DID THE ONLY THING I COULD DO!" he screamed, tears blurring his once clear vision. "I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE YOU, BUT I HAD TO BECAUSE I SAW THAT YOU WERE BECOMING CORRUPT WITH POWER! I DIDN'T WANT TO, I DIDN'T WANT TO, _I_ _DID NOT WANT TO_." That last part was spoken with such power that the blue eyed German took a step backward, eyes wide and mouth agape as he gazed at the wreck of a once-happy country. His face was red, tears streamed down his face, his entire body shook rapidly, and his sobs echoed throughout the room.

Despite the fact that he was breaking down on the inside, he wiped away his tears, sniffling rapidly as he tried to compose himself. His breaths were still unstable, come in short pants. He felt ashamed of himself, foolish for letting his emotions get the better of him, yet he still stared into those blue orbs steadily. "I won't leave this time, though. No matter what. I promise…" With that, he spun around, yet found his wrist being gripped. Irritation built up, yet was replaced when he found himself lost in blue eyes. His heart stopped, yet it wasn't for any intimate reasons.

No, it stopped due to panic and horror.

There was the violet.

In that blue.

His painting had been ruined.

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**Let me quickly explain something. That last sentence just has to do with Italy saying that Germany's eyes were like the painting he was painting in the last part. I hope that makes sense.. ._. **

**Well, thanks for reading! All that I do have to say is that the next part shows a darker side to Hetalia...so beware! Reviews are HIGHLY appreciated, since they always make me smile. There's no need to be shy. ^_^ **

**Have a great day! :D **


	5. Part Five

**Hopefully, the website doesn't shiz out on me again. Part Four would've have been up wwaayy earlier yesterday, but the website was glitching out or something. -_- It was sooooo irritating. **

**Anywho, this chapter is a bit...dark, so please beware. No haters please. This story is kind of focused on the darker side of Hetalia in case no one's noticed yet. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners.**

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If anyone spoke of recovery, he was ignorant of such a thing. He always tilted his head in confusion, a perplexed expression crossing his face. Despite racking through his memory and knowledge, he could never get the answer or even a hint of what recovery was, because of one simple thing. He didn't know _what _it was. He'd never experienced. He'd never seen it. He'd never even heard of it until World War 2 began to take off.

Multiple countries that were enslaved in the basement or the attic of the once blue eyed man constantly spoke to others (sometimes even themselves) about their recovery plans once they escaped this monster. He could never help but frown at the word 'monster' whenever they called his ally that. But when he looked over the captured countries, that frown was transformed into a look of comprehension, of understanding, of pity and guilt.

A certain blonde that had long, wavy hair and a thing for love was once freely happy, flirting at every opportunity (which was every second) and was always poking fun at another blonde Brit. Now though, his hair was lined with dried blood along with his tan face. It had turned pale long ago, but nowadays it appeared to be the color of bone. Shadows were lined under his glossy, blue eyes that gazed off into space. His chapped lips were constantly moving, muttering French to himself as his bony fingers played an unknown beat on the concrete floor. The cotton shirt he'd been captured in was torn in various areas, showing off bruised, cut, and bloody skin. It hung loosely off his skinny body, and the amber eyed man was thankful that he _was _wearing a shirt. There were too many shirtless prisoners in this house…and when they were shirtless and starved, their ribcages were seen, and he'd vomited too many times in the past week alone.

Before that blonde was taken in as prisoner, another blonde that had spiked hair and once wore a hat was brought in on April, 1940. He spent his first weeks kicking at the walls, screaming and demanding to be released. As a result, bruises and scratches were suddenly bared by his skin. It wasn't long before he began to spend his life lying on the dirty, blood-stained ground, gazing up at the ceiling with glossy eyes. His fingers twitched by his sides, always tracing unknown objects on the ground. It was only two more weeks before he began to whisper to himself, usually in his own language.

Multiple others were taken prisoner, some turning to insanity for comfort while others clung onto their sanity desperately. They were all abused and hurt in some way or another, no matter what. All the amber eyed man did, though, was stare at them with guilty eyes, his heart throbbing. Deep down, he regretted the decision of becoming an ally with the once blue eyed friend but he would never admit it. There'd be punishment if he admitted it.

"Do you regret it?" a heavily accented voice murmured, voice shaky. The amber eyed man looked up from his seated position, eyebrows knitted in confusion. There sat the man with the long, wavy blonde hair, dark shadows under his once bright yet now dark blue eyes. His posture screamed out vulnerability, of exhaustion. The expression accompanied the posture, yet underneath it all, there was that one universal emotion.

Anger.

The amber eyed man's eyebrows were pulled together in irritation. His teeth bit into his lower lip for a moment before remembering the man's question. He shook his head, and opened his mouth, prepared to reply when a humorless, dry laugh interrupted him. "This world is full of so many lies nowadays," the blonde laughed. He made eye contact with the amber eyed nation, and saw betrayal spark in them. "I hoped that they would never corrupt you, but it appears that my hopes were in vain. You've been corrupted by the lies fed to you…you've been masked by them!" he spat, voice harsh and unforgiving.

The amber eyed man visibly flinched, his eyes becoming downcast. Swallowing roughly, he rose to his feet, slightly shaking due to the choice of words. Despite the fact that he desperately didn't want to see the once blue eyed ally, he climbed the steep stairs, plotting of reasons to head out and relax on some random hill.

All those plots were drowned when he opened the door, running into a stiff, buff force. His eyes widened, heart dropping at an almost impossible speed. _Merda._

His head slowly moved upwards, heart thumping erratically due to fear. Long ago, he would've smiled and laughed happily at annoyed blue eyes, but now, his eyes were the side of plates as his mouth was agape at the sight of angered violet eyes.

Yes…_violet_.

"What were you doing down there?" a thick, furious German voice hissed, laced with venom…hatred…with anger…

Once again, he'd come in contact with anger, expect this was the representation of anger itself. Anger was seen as the color red, yet those violet eyes spoke otherwise. There was no such thing as blue within them anymore, no such thing as that aqua that only existed around him…

"You know that you're not allowed to be down there," he snarled, face contorting into a snarl. A small whimper escaped him as he shrunk back.

"I-I was just checking on the-"

A sharp force was met his face, creating a stinging sensation. Prickles bit away at his skin as liquid blurred his vision. Another sensation gently touched his prickling skin, and he quickly realized that it was his own hand.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to go downstairs?! From now on, every time you disobey me you _will _get punished! Do you understand?!" A hasty nod was received from the trembling nation. Fingers dug into his scalp, yanking at hairs as his head was pulled at an awkward angle. He stared with his own frightened eyes into an angered violet pair. "Each time you disobey me, the punishment will get worse. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

A hasty nod, a shove, and a fall follow

From that day on, his mask became almost impossible to hold on.

* * *

**Ahhh snap! *snaps fingers* Germany slapped Italy! *sees angry horde of Italy-fangirls in the distance with pitchforks and fire* Oh fudge..**

**That's right! I'm making Germany into a bad guy here...well, for a part or two. I'm pretty sure that this thing's only gonna have seven parts, possibly eight if I'm feeling generous. **

**And P.S-This can be whatever you want it to be. It can be GerIta, or just the two being friends/ex-friends, or etc. ^_^ **

**Thanks for reading, and have a great day! :D **


	6. Part Six

**I GOT IT DONE! *throws party* I've had it done for, like, three days, but I was seriously unhappy with it, so I rewrote it while drinking a Monster. Those things are magical. I love them. ^_^ **

**Anywho, THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT...AGAIN! All these reviews make me happy that I actually posted this. Plus, I've hit over 600 views...and I think that that's good...or am I just showing how newbie-ish I am? :O**

**Welp, I'm too lazy to do the formatting, so I'm just gonna leave it like this. I hope that it's still readable though. ENJOY! ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners. ^_^ If I owned it, Russia would be a panda forever. **

* * *

September was a month of crisp air, of summer's harsh heat dying down to comfortable, embracing temperatures. He always looked forward to strolling through a rather empty park, observing the now colorful trees and sometimes gazing off at colorful hills and valleys. It always caused some form of pride, of happiness to spark within him, no matter the state of his mask.

But now…now everything was different. The mask barely existed at this point, having been torn to tiny scraps. Chipped paint lay everywhere in the now violet eyed man's house, along with a loathed red substance. There was no such thing as joy, as peace, as a content sleep because of the multiple wounds he'd been receiving for the past couple of years. They weren't all physical either. Some wounds that he received were mental…emotional.

The blonde with blue eyes had grown weaker over time. His cotton shirt hung like there was nothing to rest onto at this point, barely even fitting him. It slung over one bony shoulder, revealing the man's collarbone. It wasn't rare for the amber eyed man to feel bile rise in his throat whenever the two made eye contact due to the shadows on the blonde's face. He looked like the representation of Death at this point.

Just laying his eyes on the blonde man made multiple pangs arise, and eventually, after being slapped once again, he felt his mask chip away after realizing that he'd made a mistake. What was his mistake? Oh, for the longest of times there was no answer. He'd lay awake for multiple nights sometimes, hands resting on his chest as he counted his heartbeats. By the time he reached the 72nd heartbeat, there were tears streaming down his face. Those fingers that lay over his heart dug painfully into his shirt, into his skin as he gripped onto himself like a lifeline.

But on a certain September day, he found his answer. It wasn't from staring at another blank canvas, or from setting his sights on the dreaded crease, but from gazing into those violet eyes. His ribcage screamed at a loud voice, throbbing and aching. His hands dug into the skin, his mind telling him that that'd do very little for the pain. Hurt, betrayal, sadness, regret and guilt built bubbled up within him, almost suffocating him.

He'd made another mistake.

"Why are you so useless?!" that dreaded, cold voice yelled, voice bouncing off of the wooden walls. A wince was drawn from the trembling, injured amber eyed country, gaze directed to the ground. He was surely a poor sight. His usually clean clothing was covered in dirt, torn at edges. His brownish-red hair was disheveled, curling in all the wrong areas, yet worst of all was the countless bruises that lined his tan face. There was no light that outlined that usually smiling face, there was no joy.

There was sorrow.

There was frustration.

There was regret.

But most of all, there was longing, yet it was barely visible. No, there was no longing for the violet eyed monster that had taken over his once blue eyed best friend. How could he ever long for the monster that caused him to start sobbing on the 72nd heartbeat of the night? He longed to see that blue, to see that aqua. And when he moved his gaze from the floor, he met those violet eyes. Hatred, fury, loathing...there was no sadness at this point. There was no aqua. No softness. There was no lifeline for him to grab onto.

And as he stared into those eyes, his answer finally came to him.

Tearing his eyes away from the violet ones, he struggled to his feet, stumbling into the wall yet catching himself at the last second. He breathed heavily, almost hyperventilating at this point. That mask began to crumble once more, no longer paint, just ugly, marred wood. The wood began to get ripped off as he raised his head, eyes raking up the body of the now violet eyed monster that was once his best friend. The uniform that was once casual now held various medals, and something he learned to loathe.

The armband with _the _symbol….the one that meant death, the infamous sign, the one that was loved by most people of his country. He know that if the violet eyed monster's people knew of what happened due to the people behind _the _symbol, some rebellious groups would break out, even more than there had been by now.

Averting his eyes from the despised armband due to the horrid memories that rose, he met downturned lips, and felt a pang appear. He'd only ever seen the straight line that those lips stayed in turn upwards a time or two, even if it was only for a millisecond or two. His face had always brightened up for that moment, and the amber eyed nation would always return that brightness with his own…no, not with his fake smile, not with his fake light.

With his real one.

And that had been torn away due to this _monster. _

His hands clenched as he dragged his eyes upwards, dreading the moment when he'd meet the horror…the violet…

And when he did meet that violet, when he saw the coldness, the hatred, the superiority…something snapped within him.

"Do you regret it?" he murmured, his conversation with the long haired, blonde nation floating to the surface. Those owner of the violet eyes tilted their head, eyebrows knitting together. Their posture changed almost immediately, taking on one of a rebellious teenager. The amber eyed man almost snorted, yet held it back.

"Regret what?" the taller man replied, voice holding fake curiosity. The smaller one of the two knew that he was just attempting to intimidate the other, to make him challenge his so called 'authority'.

The amber eyed country's calm gaze took a turn for the opposite, transforming into a glare. Despite the fact that his mask was deeply scarred, almost unrepairable to be exact, he felt something spark within him, swelling up in his chest, filling his throat and… "The world is so full of lies nowadays…" He swallowed roughly when he saw anger flicker within those violet eyes, yet pressed on. "I was ignorant of these lies…stuck in my times of so called 'happiness' and 'joy'. I carried on with life, befriended you…so many others…but it was all fake. You live as if this is real…as if everything that has been fed to you like food to a baby is fact when in reality…the world we live in is a lie."

His shoulders straightened, his head was suddenly held high, his lips turned upwards the slightest bit, and those amber eyes held a newfound spark, a newfound purpose. "You're a lie, and I seek facts."

With that, he pushed past the taken aback monster, strolled out of the house, slammed the door behind him, and made his way to his home, answer clear and loud.

There would be no more tears at the number 72.

There'd be no more violet.

There'd be no more pain.

No more bruises.

No more clutching to himself.

But there'd be war.

There's always war.

* * *

**AHHH SNAP! Did Italy just go all "THIS IS SPARTA!" on Nazi!Germany in a much more calm way? I THINK HE DID.**

**Dear Batman...what have I done to these characters? XD I've made them either evil, depressed or angry. I think I even made France depressed...and that's saying something! :O **

**Now if you need me, I'll be watching season four of Hetalia since I finally got enough money to buy it. *puts on free bandanna proudly* LET'S DO THIS! :D**

**P.S-I'm sorry if you find this Nazi thing offensive in any possible way. I think and believe that what occurred back in the horrible Nazi times of Europe (back when Jews were discriminated, etc...) is horrible and sickening. I only write this to shed a new side to each character. I mean no offense in any possible way. **

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are even more awesome than Prussia, so don't be shy! ^_^ Have a great day/week! :D**


	7. The End: Part One

***gets slapped for not uploading in two days* **

**I deserved it. **

**I won't lie. **

**And this is only part one to the ending.**

***gets punched in the gut***

**I deserved that too.**

**I apologize. **

**I'll give a reason at the end.**

**Enjoy~! ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners. **

* * *

The world was a blank canvas at this point. There were no colors. There was no such thing as happiness, as peace, as a fearless life… There was only resentment, pain, hurt and anger.

If anger hadn't been the universal feeling before, it now was. Everywhere the amber eyed man strolled consisted of civilians uttering harsh words of various countries, of their people. Many thought that being a country was amazing, a blessing, yet it was the exact opposite. It was horrifying, excruciatingly painful, a curse that had been pushed upon them.

You couldn't die.

You saw the world change.

You saw other countries crumble…collapse.

And above all…you felt everything that your people felt; hurt, betrayal, fury, sorrow, longing…and anger.

He knew that it wouldn't be long before he began to feel that anger…that resentment, that disgust… It'd be forced upon him, forcefully be fed to him. He'd been resisting being fed that anger, yet had begun to curl up into a ball in the night, clutching his stomach due to starvation…yet it wasn't just starvation due to the loss of food.

It was starvation due to the lack of the aqua…of feeling loved…feeling warmth…of catching a glimpse of the ghost of a smile painting themselves on usually downturned lips. The starvation never left, it never fled, not even after painting a portrait of those eyes…that smile, that softness.

The only thing holding his attention was the pounding of the rain upon the ground; of the pattern it created on his head, his jacket, and of the splashes his shoes created as he strolled along a muddy, dirt road that once held vast fields, a jaw dropping forest and the greatest yet worst memories of his long, dreadful life. Combining all of these things into one would create a form of distraction, yet he'd rested his eyes upon it far too many times. Nothing could block out the starvation at this point, not even resting his eyes on the portrait, because each time he did, he longed to see that blue, that aqua.

No more violet.

That's what his ears had received after some time. The blonde with blue eyes had appeared at his door one afternoon, a tired look plastered onto his recovering face. Underneath the exhaustion, however, was relief, happiness…resentment? He hadn't had enough time to declare the emotion before his shoulders were grabbed and a breathless voice whispered out, "He's back to normal."

He'd spent at least a week having an internal struggle, ripping out his hair at night and receiving only an hour or, if he was lucky, two hours of sleep each day. The amber eyed man would awaken, struggle out of his bed, stumble downstairs, drink a glass of water, and paint.

There was no time for food, because he was scared he'd be fed that disgust the world felt.

He didn't want to feel disgust towards his once best friend.

After that week, he'd awoken one night with a panicked gasp, clutching at his heart as he gazed with wide brown eyes at the ceiling. He knew that the blue eyed man was weak, weaker than ever before. That tore away at his unstable mask, at the caged heart that beat at an unnatural speed.

Despite all the hurt he'd felt stir within him at the time violet ruled, forgetting about the countless nights he'd spent clutching to his pillow as he trembled to tearless sobs…he cared about the aqua.

So that's why he was currently strolling to the house that had held so many memoirs…He needed to see that blue…to declare whether or not it was true or false.

Because he'd rather get slapped and punished by those violet eyes a thousand times than live without knowing if the violet had been destroyed or was still living, flickering with a very small amount of red.

The young Italian was snapped out of his thoughts when a familiar, large house came into his view, dark and seemingly empty. A small scowl replaced the familiar smile on his tan face, his eyebrows knitting together. He knew that he must've been a strange sight; his hands were in the pockets of his black pea coat, his comfortable jeans muddy and torn, along with his fancy shoes. The frown immediately added ages to his ageless face (literally) as he stood there, eyes home to various conflicting emotions.

The rain continued to attack him without fear, soaking his hair and dribbling down his face. This added an ominous feeling to the air, smothering him and almost choking him as he gazed at the empty appearing house.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, soaking his hand and causing more water to drip down his face. Grumbling, he turned around, prepared to return to his country with distressed and upset emotions when he saw something.

Curtains were returning to their original place on the upper floor.

That's all he needed to give him a reason to be sprinting to the door.

That's all he needed for a single teardrop to mix with the rain.

He couldn't tell if he was sobbing when he reached the house.

Everything blended with the rain.

* * *

**Perfect Valentines Day story. Completely fits with the romantic mood. -_-**

**SO, MY REASONING.**

**Tuesday consisted of my friend coming over and staying for a long time, followed by her leaving and me passing out due to exhaustion. **

**Wednesday consisted of her coming over again and me about to pass out from my tired nature every three seconds. **

**Yeah. **

**So I got this bit done. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll have the next part uploaded as soon as I'm done with it. **

**THANKS FOR READING! HAPPY V-DAY! :D **

**Have a great day/week! ^_^**


	8. The End: Part Two

**...*gets slapped by loyal readers* **

**I seriously deserve it. XD I started working on this right when I woke up though (we had no school today, thank goodness) and finally got it done two hours later. NO BREAKS. I only took a minute off to get a new song going.**

**But yeah...this is the end guys. I'm sorry if it's suckish. I hope it's not though. I put a lot of time and effort into it. **

**ENJOY~~! ^J^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. It belongs to its rightful and respectful owners. **

* * *

If he could've been able to pick up his paint brush and paint in order to make the blankness disappear, he would've. Everything was dark when he burst in, entire body shaking, trembling, and longing for color in his blank canvas. No color was present, however, creating a dropping sensation to fill him to the brim as he took a few cautious steps forward, body tense and wary.

Everything was a stranger to those shaking amber eyes as he observed the area, arms hanging limp at his side. The pounding of the rain outside pelted against the roof, adding a beat to the blankness as he tried to piece together what could've possible happened here. Chairs were knocked over, one lying next to a blank wall with its leg broken as it stared at the dent in the wall. The amber eyed man's eyebrows knitted together as he took a couple of steps, yet halted when something cracked.

He bent down, shakily wrapping his trembling fingers around something cold and wet from his shoes. Lifting it to his frowning face, he narrowed his eyes, attempting to make out what the picture was. His bare, wet fingers fluttered over the material, coming in contact with something…papery. Curious, he lifted the object in his hands closer, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

Before he could make out the dark shadows, however, a crash resounded off of the walls, jolting the amber eyed nation out of his observations. His brown eyes widened, darting around the room as he attempted to make out where the noise could've come from. When his eyes landed on the blank stairs, he found the source.

A beer bottle.

On normal circumstances, the mask wouldn't be required and he'd smile a real, large grin, but everything was different. He was drowning in self-hatred, starving for blue, and painting shadows on a blank canvas.

He needed color.

He needed his paint.

He needed to be standing in his attic.

He needed…he needed _him_.

Shaking his head rapidly, the amber eyed nation pushed back the tears that had risen to the surface, the trembling of his downturned lips, the throbbing within his small, weak chest…and simply ran.

His footsteps were frantic, panicked as he skipped two stairs at a time…three…four… His foot slipped past, and a stinging, searing pain shot through his jaw, dragging a wince, but not a cry nor a yelp. Shaking his head rapidly while subconsciously placing a hand on his injured jaw, he picked up the pace again, ignoring the throbs and the arrows of agony that shot through him.

He stopped.

His amber eyes widened, eyebrows knitting together in disbelief.

Glass.

The smell of alcohol.

Incoherent mumbling.

His entire body froze, almost as if time had been eaten by the jaws of horror…of sorrow…of incredulity. The sight that met his eyes, the smell that invaded his nostrils, and the sound that bit away at his heart…it was the definition of regret, of terror, of guilt.

A single footstep was placed, met with the crunching of glass. The sound of cloth tearing, cold sharpness digging in, warmth filling the inside of his sock, of his shoes. His mask scrunched up in pain, his lower lip being attacked by his upper teeth. Warmth and the taste of rust clouded his sense of taste. Red spit flew out of his mouth, landing next to a golden puddle that smelt strongly, that smelt of what he'd usually find the owner of the blue gulping down when times were tough and life needed to be lived.

Scanning the hallway he'd taken a single, warm step into, his amber eyes comprehended that beer bottles lay everywhere, puddles of alcohol smothered the floor. Guilt bubbled to the surface, his hand clasping the source of the heavy feeling as if it would make it all disappear…to flutter away…to-

Incoherent.

Illogical.

Blindness.

His amber eyes widened once again when he made out the German words that flew off of a tongue flawlessly, like a dance, a melody. He had learned enough Germany to understand that everything that danced, that twirled, that was dipped down was all of those things; incoherent, illogical, blind.

It was sorrow.

Regret.

Guilt.

Self-hatred.

Despite the glass shards that littered the floor, he took multiple steps, followed by either warmth or crunching. The sorrow, regret, everything that made your heart drown grew louder, more clear yet more irrational. Picking up speed, his hand caught on the wooden frame that led to the source, nails digging in and getting torn as he pulled himself to a skittering stop.

He would've walked away if he hadn't narrowed his eyes, gazing through the darkness. A massive lump was resting on the bed, hands sprawled over the side of the mattress. The sheets were scattered, one tangled in the lump's long legs. Beer bottles, wine bottles, everything that was associated with alcohol laid there on the ground. A few even laid on the area next to him, empty yet was home to that strong, nose-wrinkling smell.

_"-alles ist verloren ... Ich sollte einfach einschlafen ohne ihn. Er hat nie wieder ... Gott ... was habe ich getan. Ich sollte einfach ausruhen und trinken, ist Bedauern nichts ohne Fehler und Irrtümer. Ich verursacht habe so viele von diesen Dingen, er ist nie wieder, weil so.,_" a heavily accented voice murmured, voice holding exhaustion in weary hands. The amber eyed nation stood there, however, mind piecing together what the man had just uttered out at a fast, incredibly speed.

A gasp was drawn at the puzzle was completed.

The trembling lump stilled instantaneously.

Rain was the only thing audible, pelting the ceiling relentlessly.

The amber eyed nation took a shuddering step forward, a trembling hand raising towards the lump hesitantly. Nothing else moved as that one step increased to two…to four…to seven…to ele-

"_NEIN!_ STAY AWAY!" the lump hollered, causing the shuddering steps to halt midstep.

The amber eyed man raised the once outstretched hand to his opened mouth, covering it as his shoulders trembled, his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. The lump continued to lay there, shivering rapidly. They both knew that it wasn't because of coldness, the frost that coated objects…it was because they were finally here.

They were finally in the same room, facing each other's presence with fear and guilt, regret…

There was no such thing as turning back the time and continuing the amber eyed nation's stroll, passing the once joy filled home.

There was no such thing as turning and retreating as that beer bottle hit the bottom of the stairs.

Because time was irreversible.

And right now, he knew that his next decision could either create or destroy.

A single tear leaked out of the corner of his eye as he took another step forward, oblivious to the wet essence. Another step, followed by yet another…

And then there was coldness on his forehead.

He halted, eyes wide with confusion. His heart thumped at a worrisome pace, his mind screamed at him to flee, yet for the first time, he ignored everything. He wouldn't be seen as the weak, scrawny Italian that surrendered at every dangerous moment. No, he'd be the one that had a stare down with the barrel of a gun, to stare into eyes that lusted for danger.

And he was doing both right now.

He held his ground, eyes narrowed, lips trembling, clenched hands shaking. His head was tilted upwards, defying the owner of those eyes that lusted for danger. His brown eyes traveled up a tall, strong body that was home to new, various scars that screamed out pain, agony and…was that burn mark? Shaking his head, he swallowed roughly, eyes now on those lips.

Those lips sometimes twisted into a soft, caring smile only for him, yet for the past decade, there was no softness, no care…It was downturned, creating its own form of a crease.

That amber lifted, and finally settled, hesitantly, on the eyes.

It was lies.

Everything was a lie.

The blonde lied.

There, piercing through the dark, was violet.

Violet.

_Violet, _his mind registered.

_He's still…_

Almost immediately, the tears blurred his vision, his head dropped from its defying position, and the coldness remained, taunting him, mocking him, telling him that there was no such thing as the color blue anymore. His mouth opened, the words 'Go ahead…' about to be uttered when there was a grunt, and the cold began to shake.

Confused, his blurry eyes opened and his head lifted. The gun was shaking, trembling even more than him at the moment. His eyes traveled to the hand that gripped the weapon, seeing that it was quivering too. Another grunt forced his eyes to travel to the dreaded violet, to the color he'd learned to loath, to despise, and to have nightmares of.

But there was no violet.

No, there was the blue that was home to only a speck of the violet, warring with itself. Violet and blue collided as the two different colors gazed at each other, seeming to commit the details of the other to memory. Another grunt came from the taller one, followed by the gun slowly being lowered as the owner of the blue eyes squeezed their eyes shut, biting down on their lip. "_L-Laufen_," the taller whispered, voice strained.

The amber eyed nation shook his head slowly, his hand subconsciously rising with either knowing it.

The taller one's head rapidly moved back and forth, entire body shaking as he seemingly fought an internal battle. "_Nein…"_ he uttered out, wavering yet strong.

"No," the Italian responded, voice worried and calm.

He had his blue back.

He would never let the violet return.

Even if he had to paint the other a mask of his own.

"Wh-Why won't you run?" the trembling country hissed out, body hunching over as he clutched his head. A single blue appeared, violet larger now.

Fear bubbled.

Desperation announced its arrive.

And before he could stop himself, the Italian had his arms wrapped around the other.

And he'd never let go.

No, not even when he felt the gun press to his left temple.

Because shortly after, it clattered to the ground.

Not even when nails dug into his shoulder.

Because he knew that the other was clinging onto him.

When the other trembled, he knew it was not because he fighting another battle against the violet.

He knew that he was holding back his tears.

"_Lascia andare_," the Italian whispered, voice soothing, calm, reassuring.

The other shook their head, mouth opening.

"No…You're the one who needs to…I know of your mask." The smaller country's blood turned to ice, eyes wide and body stiffening. "You don't need to keep repainting it…You don't need to keep repairing it..."

'_It's always been fake…'_

Those amber eyes held such disbelief…such susceptibility…"G-Ger-"

"_Loslassen_…"

All that paint was immediately torn off, all of that wood was chopped into small bits, and left him open to the world. He felt vulnerable, naked…and was about to flee when arms wrapped around him even tighter, a face buried in the crook of his neck. A wet essence met his bare neck, his brain comprehending that those were tears…coming from…from… _"G-Germany?_"

"_Italia..._"

The upside-down smile was no more.

_**The End. **_

* * *

***throws a party***

**I got it done! I'm so happy! ^J^**

**Oh, and please excuse any typos. I was staring at this screen for around 3 hours straight, and just wanted to get this posted.**

**Yeah. **

**There's definitely typos. **

**And now I've gotta do translations...crap. -_- **

_Alles ist verloren ... Ich sollte einfach einschlafen ohne ihn. Er hat nie wieder ... Gott ... was habe ich getan. Ich sollte einfach ausruhen und trinken, ist Bedauern nichts ohne Fehler und Irrtümer. Ich verursacht habe so viele von diesen Dingen, er ist nie wieder, weil so__**.= **_All is lost...I should just fall asleep without him. He's never returning...God...what have I done. I should just rest and drink, regret is nothing without errors and mistakes. I've caused so many of these things, he's never returning because of so. (German..P.S-I just wrote random crap. Don't be surprised if it makes no sense.)

_Nein_= No. (German)

_L-Laufen=_ Run. (German)

_Lascia andare= _Let go. (Italian)

_Loslassen= _Let go. (German)

**Probably half of these are wrong since Google Translate is just a big troll. **

**It's the only thing I can use since no one I know if fluent in German or Italian. -_- **

**Well, here's the end guys. My last author's note for this story! **

**And before I leave...I'd like to thank ****_FusososoLaugh _****for making me fall due to my laughter multiple times. The Nordic Loving Potato Stealing Magic Hyenas That Laugh Loudly Duo ftw! ^J^ **

**And I'd also like to thank everyone who's left a review. They always make my day, especially the ones that give feedback. You guys are awesome. **

**Before I leave, I'd also like to thank you (yes you!) for reading this story. It reached over 1,000 views on Saturday night, and made me an extremely happy person. You're awesome...more awesome than Prussia.**

**Thanks so much for reading, and have an awesome day/week! ^_^ **


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